The Savior Of The Damned
by envisionartist
Summary: [Based on the RPG] Just my luck, I knew this would happen to me. The irony of me being something I'm not, I am no savior. I was only a journalist. I thought I was looking for my purpose, and now I found my purpose as dead? [Rated M for language] NinesxOFC


My breath cooed against the cold wind. I kept my stiff cold hands in my pockets, pulling the jacket down for more effectiveness. I breathe in sharply, inhaling the cold air into my lungs. I look around, as I walk quickly. I was walking home from another harsh day of interviews, their words were rushing through my head._ "You need more experience, you need more recommendations, you need more articles."_ It always about more, more of something that I can't achieve unless I am given the opportunity. "Assholes" I mumbled under my breath. I look around, it was three in the morning and I had been spending a particular amount of time at the local pub here in downtown LA. "The last stand, the last book- Oh wait, the last round!" I said reminding myself that I am alone and could talk to myself, minus the few bums on the street here and there, and an occasional hooker.

I heard the heavy industrial coming from the club I was passing by, dark figures were always surfacing in and out of this place but, I never questioned it. To me, it was just like NYC. I had to admit, it's architecture was quite impressive, it looked like a Gothic cathedral. Something I've been called all my life, a goth. "As if I give a fuck.." I sighed, playing with the titanium snake bite piercings on my lips, continuing on my un-merry way as it were.

I made a sharp turn at the up and turning corner then emptied the parking lot of my apartment building. "What a dump" I said looking up, admiring the graffiti and absence of any cleanliness amongst the building walls. I rolled my eyes as I walked up the steps to reach the door of my apartment. With a quick turn of the key and huff with my arm against the door, it opened. Exasperated, I kicked the door behind and threw the keys across the room, amused at how it had landed directly behind the refrigerator. "As if this fucking apartment wasn't small enough.." I sighed.

Frustrated from the long day, I turned on the television and let the voices hum in the background. I zipped the front of my black plaid coat, it fit my figure well so I had to snake my way out of the sleeves. My navy Henley was rolled up at the sleeves, while it the bottom draped itself over my black skinny jeans. With a quick swift, I pulled of my black converse and studied myself in the mirror.

My black, medium-length, choppy hair was in a sense of disarray as one could tell by the short and long arrangement of bangs on my face. The eyeliner surround my big amber eyes, was heavy to help suppress the look of the bags that were currently inhabiting my face. The red on my petite nose was alarming, and I sniffled as I felt a sharp pain reach my forehead. I let out a sneeze covering my full lips. They weren't huge, they were just the average size, the snake bites made them look larger. My cheek bones were slightly prominent, giving off a sense of a tough exterior. My complexion was a bit between pale and tan, giving off a light glow. Looking back in the mirror, I noticed my small height of five six, and the slender figure before. I had never always looked this way but, the size four figure in front of me reminded of all those years I had to put up with the ridicule and humiliation of not having the perfect figure. Now, here I am, and I'm still not happy as they promised, as they promised.

Sighing, I walked over towards my unmade bed and sifted through the articles I have shown to the local newspaper agency in downtown LA. I was a journalist, at least an aspiring one. No, I didn't want to be a news anchor, I wanted to write about serious issue and make people bow at my feet all because, they want my eloquence and opinion. I looked over towards the lamp near the television, and saw the unpacked boxes that were illuminated. I have just moved from the big apple, hearing that this is the place where dreams are made. "Bull fucking shit.." I thought.

Feeling defeated, I laid myself down upon the bed, legs in a folded position with articles spread out across the wrinkled bed sheets. I stared up at the ceiling, contemplating as I have always done, about life and my own purpose amongst the universe. "Damn it all" I huffed, curling over to my side in a fetal position. I shut my eyes and let the drowsiness of an unsuccessful day take over me. Thoughts still raced rapidly through my mind as the darkness of eyes shut took over me.

LA, the place were dreams are made. Yeah right. What am I to do if I can't find my purpose here? Just move around from place to place until I eventually reach no where and realize that I have no purpose? No, that can't be it. That can't be everything, are we just here as drones waiting to deplete our own species? Is there something else that is going to that for us? I'm twenty-two, and a NYU graduate with no job. I wonder what that must say about me. Fuck. What about relationships, eh? The only friends I had were in NYC, my Father has passed and my Mom doesn't even remember who I am. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Maybe moving to LA was a bad idea? Maybe I should have stayed at NYC. Or maybe fate brought me here to LA? Maybe I have a bigger purpose to fill that I just don't know about yet. Well, what ever the fuck destiny is doing, it better hurry the fuck up because I'm about to lose all hope.

With those final thoughts at ease in my mind, my slumber came upon me drastically as I fell asleep with the wounds of today, anticipating tomorrow's. Little did I know that I was to be dead. Talk about wounds.

I rolled over in bed, reaching the edge of my pillow as my head slid down to embrace the unmade sheets from two nights ago. My legs intertwined with the articles of previously failed interviews. I heard the crumpling of the perfectly printed papers. "Ugh.." I sighed sitting up and dragging a few of the articles with my long legs. "Shit" I yawned and tried to make the papers look as neat as I possibly could. Realizing this was an impossible task, I dropped the articles to my side, crumpled and all. I looked over at the cheap digital clock over to my right on my empty dresser and glanced at the time. I didn't realize it at first but, then I shouted "Five fucking o'clock?! How the hell did I manage that?" Little did I know that was going to be the last sleep I would have for a while.

I lifted myself off the bed and walked towards the television and turned it up. It seems there has been a lot of suspicious murders, going on before I even moved here. "Good choice, Ebony.." I told myself. Yes, if you were indeed wondering, my name is Ebony Douay. A particularly uncommon name but, then again my Parents were uncommon people.

Then something alarming caught my eye on the television, a bloody murder scene with a massacred and dismembered body hanging over a pier. "Well, that's not good.." I mumbled while focusing my attention from the cleanliness of my room to the television. _"Police are investigating the crime scene, it seems this person's death was almost unnatural. A street thug it seems had been brutally murdered no doubt and now hung in public view. Due to this, the police have shut down the pier temporarily. Now, on to Paris Hilton's new drunk driving charge..."_ Unamused, I quickly shut off the television and sat on my bed, annoyed.

I walked over to my closet and tossed a few articles of clothing onto my bed. Content with my choices I changed into a black fitted hoodie and ripped jeans. Me being the lazy individual that I am, I threw on a fresh pair of socks and threw on my converse. Using extreme pressure, I pushed the refrigerator out of the way and retrieved my keys. I stuffed them in my pants pocket along with a wallet with about one hundred dollars._ "Well, it is five ten. Maybe I'll hang around the park for while and take some photography then head to the local pub later."_ I thought to myself. The park was the only good thing about this place, the only clean place.

With my Nikon in my hand, I walked out of my unorganized apartment only to be graced by a more brooding scene of civilization at it's worst.


End file.
